


Non-Typical Uses of a Desk and the Sex That Results

by ALC_Punk



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, F/M, Fingering, Scott likes taking orders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17220992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: Scott and Jean enjoy having the boathouse to themselves, especially when Jean is feeling extra horny. PWP, really.





	Non-Typical Uses of a Desk and the Sex That Results

**Author's Note:**

> I... really have no idea where this little piece came from. But it wouldn't go away, and Scott really likes taking orders from Jean when it comes to making her orgasm. Set sometime during that vague mid-late-90s era when they were living in the boathouse.

"Get on your knees and close your eyes," Jean says. There's a glint in her eyes, and her mouth is tipped up a little, as though she's mocking herself even as she's ordering him to abase himself in front of her. 

Scott can't help his responding smirk as he gets down on the floor in front of her, leaning in for a moment, letting his nose brush along the fabric of her skirt. He closes his eyes, letting the scent of her deepen in his mind as he closes one avenue of his senses off. It's not as though he wasn't expecting this, with the way she'd woken him up this morning, mouth and hand wrapped around his cock.

His muscles twitch at the memory and he sucks in a deep breath, savoring the scent of sex and sweat she's still carrying. Naughty girl, didn't even shower after their morning sex. 

Fingers stroke through his hair, then wrap around his glasses, lifting them off his face. For just an instant, he feels panic build--if he opens his eyes--but then she leans down, murmuring, "I've got this, Scott. Just keep your eyes closed for me."

There's no relaxation, not entirely, at least. Scott has seen the destruction he can cause with _controlled_ beams from his eyes. Uncontrolled isn't something he really wants to witness. But if Jean says she has him... he's heard that from her before, but that was so long ago when she was Phoenix (and he's aware that his wife is no longer Phoenix, but she has the memories, and she's clever--if one Jean Grey can figure out how to control his optic blasts, another certainly can). 

"Really, Scott, it's not rocket science," his wife mutters before she shifts a bit. The sound of fabric shifting and sliding gives him a small clue as to what she's doing before her hand touches the top of his head. "Now, shuffle forward and use that mouth for something more productive than arguing with Hank about who ate the last poptart."

A grin crosses his lips and he turns his head to the side, carefully locating one leg. She's clambered up onto the desk, spreading her legs, he decides as he crawls forward--slamming his head into the desk is _not_ going to look very suave, after all. His cheek bumps her knee, and he follows the line of her leg until he is fairly certain he's at a good distance from his ultimate goal. 

For a moment, he imagines the picture in front of him. Jean, her skirt pulled up around her waist, perched on the desk with him kneeling between her legs. It's enough to make his cock twitch and his mouth dry a bit. _God_ , but she's incredibly hot. 

There are days he doesn't have a clue how he managed to stumble into their marriage. 

Today, on his knees, with Jean ordering him to eat her out on her desk when anyone could walk in (he's fairly certain the door is locked and Hank was told not to disturb them during breakfast, but he's not going to confirm that), he's fairly certain he doesn't fucking deserve her. 

His lips brush over the top of her stocking and he groans a little. He loves Jean in stockings and very little else--maybe she'll leave them on and bend over the desk for him later. The pants he's wearing feel even tighter than before, and he tries not to shift and give away how hard he is. Jean would just use it as ammunition at a later date about how easy he is. 

Continuing on his exploratory path, he discovers she discarded her underwear at some point, mouth encountering bare skin and curls. The moan escapes him aloud this time and he nuzzles into her pussy and just takes a moment, breathing her in. 

She's already soaked, and he rubs his nose back and forth over her clit, knowing it's annoying her even as it stimulates. 

"Scott, quit dicking around, and lick me." Yup. Annoyed Jean Voice. 

The grin deepens before he obeys her demand, tongue out and flickering here and there. She tastes--he's never been able to describe it, but she tastes amazing. There's a slightly more acidic flavor to her, and he figures that's from this morning. It's been hours, but a little of his semen probably stuck around through the morning. 

He slides his tongue from her entrance to her clit, then back, sucking her juices as he goes. 

With his eyes closed, he can hear clearly how obscene it sounds, squishy, slurpy noises that wouldn't go amiss in a porno. If he watched that sort of thing. She's wet and viscous, hot and swollen against his lips and tongue and face. 

Pressing in against her, he nips at the sides of her labia with his lips and teeth. The startled half-moan, half-yelp from above makes him do it again. 

Every so often, he discovers something else about his wife that she enjoys. This is one more thing to add to his arsenal. He licks another line from clit to entrance and then dots kisses around in a random pattern. 

Fingers slide into his hair, tugging a little, urging him back up towards her clit, and he lets her feel his grin as he presses his mouth into her thigh. "Something you want, Jean?"

"Your tongue and lips on my clitoris. Now." She snaps, yanking at his hair. 

"Yes, ma'am," he says, before kissing her skin and nuzzling his way back in-between her labia. Lips and tongue find her clit, and he sucks lightly for a moment before settling in to slowly lick and suck in combination. 

It doesn't take long before her fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him in even closer as her hips twitch. She grinds against his mouth, soft moans and whimpers telling him how close she is. 

"Fingers, Scott. Use your fingers, too--" she gasps. 

He brings up one hand and thrusts two fingers into her, shifting his face slightly so he's not crowding his chin and hand. Pumping them in and out, he can feel her muscles rippling and tightening. The soft _schluck_ sound is lost in the background as she comes.

Barely in time, he gets his other arm around her leg, keeping her from kneeing him in the head as she convulses. 

Not letting up, he continues his lick-suck combination while his fingers wriggle out of time with her inner contractions. A babble of random words from Jean accompanies her slow shift and collapse. 

Her fingers release his head and her hands drop away, though her hips still twitch as she begins to disengage from his mouth. 

"Stop--" she finally gasps. From the angle of sound, she's fallen back on her desk, and he feels a smug sense of accomplishment as he wriggles his tongue against her, then slowly draws back, kissing her labia then her inner thighs.

Then he settles his cheek against her leg, and waits for her next command. 

Jean finally reaches down and touches his forehead, grazing her fingers over his closed eyes. "Thank you, Scott. That was just what I needed."

"I could tell," he murmurs, kissing her hip before shifting back and slowly standing up-right. He sways for a moment, his knees not quite up to the task of straightening. "Glasses?"

"Mm. Just a moment." 

The sound of cloth slithering over skin and the thump-thump of her feet hitting the floor accompany a shift in the air. She leans against him, her hand brushing his, the glasses exchanged easily. 

Scott slips them back on and blinks a couple of times before looking down at his wife. She looks like she's falling asleep against him, her eyes half-closed as she looks back at him. "Should take you back to bed, Mrs. Summers, you look exhausted."

Both of her eyebrows raise, then waggle. "Sure you don't want to bend me over the desk and deal with this little problem?" Her free hand cups him through his jeans. 

A groan escapes, "You look tired."

Her eyes widen and she pulls away from him, "Not that tired."

Jean pulls the already-wrinkled skirt back up around her waist and turns to lean over the desk. "Fuck me, Scott. Make me feel it."

He's already moving to comply before she finishes her command.

-f-


End file.
